


Roses are Red (when Remembered)

by R00bs_Teacup



Series: Platonic Valentine gifts 2017 [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: No idea how to summarise. A random evening.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts).



> For Canadiangarrison, who is awesome.

They miss valentines day by accident, Porthos out until late, and Athos- well, Athos just forgot. He doesn’t remember until Porthos turns up at Athos’s office on the fifteenth with a red rose and a mini box of Tesco’s chocolate with the ‘on offer’ label still on. Athos lets him in and goes back to working on checking the coding for the app they’re supposed to have up and running. Porthos puts the rose in Athos’s glass of water, makes himself at home in the visitor chair, and eats his way through the chocolates.

“I got you wine, really. It’s at home,” Porthos says, spinning the chair. 

“For what?” Athos asks. “Fuck. Why- right. Stupid fucking…”

“Valentines,” Porthos says, sounding scandalised. Then he laughs and hops out of the chair, leaning over the desk to kiss the top of Athos’s head where he’s bent over the tablet screen. Athos fixes the code and checks again. 

“Ok. What? Valentines? Oh. Is that today? Do we do valentines? Have we in past years?”

“You never remember, and I haven’t really bothered,” Porthos says. “I took you to dinner last year, in secret. Um, you obviously knew about dinner, but not that it was for valentines.”

“Yes. I understood,” Athos says. “And this year?”

“I wanted chocolate. I’m on the rag. Shark week. When we’re in Australia, Ath, do you the sharks will come and eat me if I swim when-”

“Stop,” Athos says, holding up a hand. “No. If it were a thing, it would be a thing. So no.”

“Reassuring,” Porthos says, plopping back into his chair, and catches movement out of the corner of his eye. “Sweets, I think d’Art wants you.”

d’Artagnan’s pressed to the window, holding up a bit of paper, pointing to it and mouthing. 

“Come in!” Porthos yells. 

d’Artagnan jumps, and comes into the office. He gabbles in Work Speak for a while, which Porthos tunes out, then sighs and yawns and sits on Porthos’s knees. 

“Phew. My ankles are killing me,” d’Artagnan says. Porthos wraps his arms around d’Artagnan’s waist. 

“Arthritis?” Porthos asks, muffled by d’Artagnan’s silly long hair. Porthos blows it away. 

“Yep. My wrists hurt too, but I don’t have to walk on my hands,” d’Artagnan says. 

“Makes wanking hard though,” Porthos says, peering over d’Artagnan’s shoulder at his hands, resting his chin on the bony bit. d’Artagnan has nice hands. And Porthos is always kinda vaguely horny when he has his period. He shifts, and Athos gives him an amused look. 

“Are you thinking about wanking, now?” d’Artagnan grumbles, pushing Porthos’s head away. “I’m at work, you foof.”

“My niece calls her vagina her foof,” Athos says. 

“I’m going home, get off me,” Porthos says. “I’m not working, I have half term. I’m going to wank. I only came to bring Athos valentines things.”

“Not me?” d’Artagnan says, getting to his feet stiffly. Porthos keeps a hand on his waist and gets up quickly so he can sit again. 

“You took me to dinner last night,” Porthos says. “So, no.”

“You did romantic things without me?” Athos says. 

“You were asleep. It was ten thirty,” Porthos says. “I’m going home. I want to nap. Cramps. One of you bring me treats, on your way back. Aramis certainly won’t.”

“He won’t have sex with you, either, he’s ace. Athos might,” d’Artagnan says. “I’m not. Not after last time.”

Porthos giggles, thinking about d’Artagnan farting all day at his Mum’s house after letting Porthos bugger him with a strap on the night before. That was funny. Athos point Porthos to the door, reminding him of his outward trajectory. Porthos pauses to kiss d’Artagnan, and waves, and is gone. He has a brief flash of panic in the lift and wishes he took the stairs, which floods his body with adrenaline so he runs home, and looks a bit bonkers. He crashes into their flat and wakes Aramis, snoozing on the sofa. Aramis is working nights at the moment so isn’t happy to be woken, until Porthos flings himself on top of him on the sofa and suggests things to do. 

“Ok, ok, keep your knickers on,” Aramis says, yawning. “Let me wake up.”

“I’m happy, love,” Porthos says.

“Good. Did you… what were you doing? Something romantic, and chocolate.”

“I did both,” Porthos says. “d’Artagnan’s joints hurt. I think I’ll run him a bath.”

“Mm. Heat is good,” Aramis says, sleepy again now Porthos isn’t making him wake up. “Are you humping my leg, baby?”

“No,” Porthos says, shifting so he’s not. He hadn’t meant to. 

“Period?”

“Since this morning,” Porthos groans, pushing his face into Aramis’s shoulder. Aramis wriggles until his thigh is pressing between Porthos’s legs in a nice way. “Mm.”

“Don’t get off. But you’re welcome to that.”

“Thanks,” Porthos says. “I’m cold.”

“No.”

“Yep.”

Aramis sighs, but shifts so Porthos can get the thick quilt from the back of the sofa and cocoon them cosily in it. He goes floppy and limp against Aramis, then, and sighs, happy. The adrenaline and the run and the chocolates have helped the crampy feeling, and Aramis’s thigh is nice and comforting, and Aramis in general is nice and conducive to napping.

“Snuggle bum,” Porthos mutters. 

“It’s too hot,” Aramis grumbles.

“Cosy.”

“Fine.”

Aramis yawns again, and Porthos yawns too, which makes Aramis yawn again-again. He starts snoring soon after that, the noisy rumbling snores he always makes when he sleeps on his back. Porthos likes lieing on top of him, like this, snug and close. It’s not cold, especially, but like this all wrapped up tight and so close it’s so warm, permeating all through Porthos until he feels it right down to his bones. He falls asleep, too, to Aramis’s familiar, ridiculous, breathing. 

He wakes on his own, face down on the sofa, under a lighter blanket. Aramis and Athos are talking quietly, and there’s the clink of cutlery on plates which promises food. Porthos turns onto his side and opens his eyes. Aramis and Athos, sitting on the other side of the coffee table, stop eating and watch him. Then Athos gives a little wave and goes back to eating and whatever he was saying. Aramis raises an eyebrow, waits for Porthos to shrug and then he eats, too. 

“Yours is in the oven. I drew a bath for d’Artagnan, so you didn’t have to wake up,” Aramis says. 

“How are you feeling?” Athos asks. 

“Better,” Porthos says. “Not gonna sleep much tonight though.”

“You went to sleep at one am last night, and woke up at four,” Aramis says. “You’ll sleep fine.”

“Right. True. Will you have sex with me to help me fall asleep, Ath?” 

“No, I’ll have to stay up,” Athos says. “I will have sex just because, though. You put me in the mood earlier.”

“Oh yeah, I was really sexy,” Porthos says, trying to do a sexy wriggle. 

It’s more of a flop and nearly displaces him from sofa to floor. Aramis laughs at him, so Porthos goes to get his dinner to pretend to sulk. He brings it back and joins them on the floor at the table. 

“Did Charlie eat?” he asks. 

“Yeah. We tried waiting for you, but you just went on sleeping forever,” Aramis says. “I need to tell him to shake a leg, I want to shower before work.”

“Tell him I’ll do him a bunch of hot water bottles,” Porthos says. 

“He’s not that bad,” Athos says. “He was grumbling, and making excuses to sit on your lap.”

“Oh,” Porthos says, smiling. “Good.”

Aramis gets up and a few minutes later d’Artagnan wanders in, stark bollock naked, drying his hair with a towel. He sits cross-legged on the sofa, showing off his soft cock. Porthos tips his head back to get a look at it, wondering what it’d be like on him.

“I like in Misfits, the one who has the power to nick pricks,” Athos says, also watching d’Artagnan. “That’d be cool. We could just… share around what we’ve got.”

Porthos sniggers, and gives d’Artagnan’s knee a fond little pat, then looks up at his face. d’Artagnan’s watching him, amused, indulgent. 

“I’m having sex with Athos. Want to join?” Porthos offers, getting his hand around d’Artagnan’s cock. It’s soft, but familiar, and Porthos hums, shifting. 

“No. Not after last time,” d’Artagnan reminds. 

“We can just, you know. Not bugger you,” Porthos says, thumbing gently over the sensitive spot d’Artagnan likes. “Mm?”

“No,” d’Artagnan says, but then shifts his hips. “Ok.”

“Yesss!” Porthos says, sitting up to give Athos a grin. “Ath! I got us a cock!”

Athos chokes on his wine, and nearly kills himself laughing. Porthos is suddenly, sharply aware of how much he loves everyone here with him, and he has to get up and join Aramis in the shower and have Aramis hold onto him for a bit to get himself together so he doesn’t burst into weird tears. 

“Period,” Aramis whispers into his ear, reminding him, cradling his head. “It’s ok, lovely. Got you, hmm?”

“I miss you, when you’re on nights,” Porthos says. 

“I thought you were going to have sexy times?” Aramis says. “I’m not interested in that.”

“I miss sleeping with you. You’re my best friend,” Porthos says. “How much longer?”

“Another week,” Aramis says. “You’ll be used to it by then and kick at me when I come to bed.”

“Yeah, probably. I’m a kicker,” Porthos says. “d’Artagnan’s a covers stealer, I’m a kicker, Athos talks in his sleep, you snore. We’re all terrible.”

“It’s wonderful. Are you better? Because two things, the hot water is giving out and I’m going to be late.”

Porthos is done, but he lingers over drying Aramis, examining him, reminding himself of every inch and centimeter and millimetre of his body. Eventually he has to let Aramis do his teeth and get into scrubs and ready for his shift. 

“My sexy nurse,” Porthos says, wrapping him in an embrace big and warm enough to last him all night. “Without the sex.”

“Your y nurse,” Aramis says, laughing. “Thanks, babe, I’ll be warm all night now. Goodnight, guys!”

Athos and d’Artagnan wave and Aramis disentangles himself, and leaves. Porthos watches the door for a minute, then turns to the others. And realises he’s got no clothes on, now, either. Just Athos is still dress. He and d’Artagnan exchange a look. 

“Oh no,” Athos says, eyes going very wide. 

Later, lying panting on their wide bed, all of them naked and sweaty and sticky, Porthos spreads himself out, Athos and d’Artagnan hugging him from either side, hot water bottles for d’Artagnan’s joints warming them all right the way down to the bone so they don’t need covers, all feels right with the world. Aramis will be back, and Porthos, anyway, can still feel their cuddling.


End file.
